Commedia del Cat
by Psyched
Summary: AU. Follow-up, of sorts, to "About Lindsey." Cath gets the backlash she feared in Season 4, but it's nothing she ever could have imagined.
1. Chapter 1

A/N (from 2004): **Parody** (noun) **1:** a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule  
**2:** a feeble or ridiculous imitation   
**Caricature** (noun) **1:** exaggeration by means of often ludicrous distortion of parts or characteristics  
**2:** a representation especially in literature or art that has the qualities of caricature  
**3:** a distortion so gross as to seem like caricature  
(From Merriam Webster)

WARNING!! The story you are about to read is a **parody** (see above). The character of Catherine Willows is meant to be a **caricature **(see above) of the one we see on CSI (which, by the way, I do not own). Based on the title, you may safely assume (heh) that this story (from which I am making no profit, in case you were wondering) will paint Cath in a negative light, and that ultimately she will suffer the backlash she supposedly feared in Season 4 (not that you'd know it considering she cashed that check from Sam Braun, but that's another story). Believe it or not, I don't dislike Ms. Willows. I'm just tired of watching her get away with murder (okay, maybe it was involuntary manslaughter—thanks, Mich!)…and evidence tampering, and negligence, and destruction of property, and general bitchiness, and, well, you get the drift. In case you haven't figured it out yet, if you think Catherine Willows is the greatest thing since sliced bread and can do no wrong, you will _probably_ not find the humor in this story, so you might want to stop reading **now**!

Credit for this idea must go to the Playing with Fire chatters who not only made the suggestion for Cath to be on one of "those" talk shows, but allowed me to run with it. Sorry this has taken so long to come to fruition, guys. Special thanks go to ShannonSto and MichStJame for supplying inspirational nicknames, to Maddy for providing some elusive lines, and to Raff for inspiring the ending. And extra special thanks to my betas, Alison and Manigault.

A/N 2 (from 2008): OK, so most of this story was written several years ago, during Season 4. Yes, it's AU, as pretty much none of what's happened since then is reflected in the story (except for the GSR of course!). And I'll repeat, all these years later, that I don't hate the character of Catherine Willows, but it's just so darn much fun to give her some comeuppance.

While Grissom and Sara make an appearance or two in this story (and they are a couple, naturally), this is not a GSR fic. I do have one of those in the works, also mostly written several years ago, and eventually I'll get that one done as well.

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"Dammit Lindsey, I said 'no.' You need to spend your time studying for the GED; not worrying about what you think I should be wearing." Catherine Willows-Bezich hung up the phone and, closing her eyes, sat back in her chair with a sigh.

"Everything okay?" Grissom asked from the doorway.

The graveyard shift supervisor opened her eyes and took a few moments to study the man who had once been her boss. He had somehow managed to look younger every year since giving up the administrative position after Sara gave birth to their first child. _Family life must really agree with him. Wish I could say the same._ "Yeah. Just a minor battle with Lindsey. She wants us to go on _The_ _Jackie Jackson Show_. Heaven help you when your kids get to be 18, Gil; it's Hell."

"Who's Jackie Jackson?"

She knew she shouldn't have been surprised, but couldn't stop herself from shaking her head in wonder. "She's the host of one of those over-the-top talk shows. Tapes right here in Vegas, as a matter of fact." At his blank look, she offered more information, "You know, specializes in topics like 'Who's Your Daddy?' and 'I was a Stripper in My Past Life, but Holy Cow--Look at Me Now!'"

Grissom simply raised his eyebrows in a seemingly amused response. Catherine soon realized why—she could have been a guest on both of those shows.

He was afraid to ask, but figured Sara would be upset if he only got half the story. _I wonder if she's ever heard of this Jackson woman_. "What's the topic of the show Lindsey wants you to be on?"

"Mother-daughter makeovers. She thinks I dress too 'young' and would love to have the opportunity to pick a new wardrobe for me."

Grissom hoped he'd hidden his shocked expression in time. _Finally! Someone has the guts to talk to her about her clothes._

Misreading his look, Catherine pressed ahead, "I know! Can you believe it? If Linds is lucky enough to have a body like this when she's my age, you can bet she'll want to show it off too." Lowering her voice a bit, she added, "But you know, it might be worth it, since I'd get to make her over too. She's into that grungy-Goth look now." She shook her head and gave a shudder that clearly said 'What did I ever do to get a kid like that?'

"Well, I'm sure you'll work it out." Anxious now to end this conversation, he took a step in and handed her a folder. "Here's the paperwork on the Montgomery case. Got anything new for me?"

"No. It's been a slow night in Vegas—must be the heat."

"Good, let's keep it that way for the rest of shift. Sara and I have to get home on time in the morning; school starts tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, I forgot it's that time of year." _Getting Lindsey up for school is no longer something I need to worry about since she was kicked out._ "Is Emma excited about being a second grader?"

"I've lost track of how many times she's packed and re-packed her book bag already. Plus she's been getting a real kick out of scaring poor Andrew about what to expect for his first day of kindergarten."

Grissom virtually beamed whenever he spoke of his children. _Ha!_ _That bloom will fade as soon as they hit adolescence, _Catherine thought smugly.

"Hard to believe there was once a time when Lindsey liked school, too," she shrugged. "Take my advice, Gil, and treasure the moments when your kids actually listen to what you say and do as you ask. It won't last forever."

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sure it's easier since there's both Sara and me. You and Eddie were already separated by the time Lindsey was Emma's age."

"And he was dead by the time she was nine. You have no idea how idea how difficult it was for me, raising her by myself."

Catherine could have sworn she caught the tail-end of an eye roll before he commented, "And then you met Chris."

"Mmm," was all she could say as thoughts of the early days with Chris Bezich flooded her mind. The man was a stallion in bed; and as well-endowed as he was, it was a blessing that he understood it wasn't the size of the ship but the motion of the ocean that made a woman happy. Their marriage may not have been as strong as it once was, but the sex remained incredible, so who could complain?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Grissom's voice, but she missed what he had said. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I asked what you wanted me to work on now."

"Oh. Umm, Nicky's working on a DB that came out on one of the baggage carousels at McCarran. He could probably use some help."

"Sure. I'll see you later, then."

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As soon as Catherine turned off the ignition, she could hear the sounds blaring from her house. When she touched the front door to unlock it, she could _feel_ the beat of what her daughter called music. It instantly triggered an answering throb in her own head.

Crossing the threshold into the cool interior, she took a moment to steel herself against the scene that was sure to unfold in the next few minutes. As she glanced around what she could see of the house, Catherine observed an undoubtedly empty bag of chips on the coffee table in the living room and a sink full of dishes in the kitchen. _I told her to make sure she cleaned all that up before I got home today, dammit._

Stalking to her daughter's bedroom, she stopped at the door. The "music" was practically deafening. She was grateful that it was almost ten in the morning and most of her neighbors would not be home now. There was no way Lindsey would be able to hear her if she simply knocked, so she pounded on the barrier with her fist. "Lindsey! Lower that stereo and open this door right now!"

She counted silently to ten before trying again. "Lindsey Catherine Willows! NOW!" Her hand was getting sore from its assault against the hard wood.

Midway through her third tirade, the door burst open and the music stopped simultaneously. At that point, any of the neighbors who _were _home likely heard Catherine ranting that she would allow no daughter of hers to treat her this way. The criminalist scowled at her offspring, a good three inches taller than her mother. "You did that on purpose."

Lindsey flashed an insincere smile and drawled in a syrupy sweet voice, "Did what?"

"You know _what_." Catherine barged into the room and looked for a place to sit. The bed was unmade and still had last week's clean laundry in various piles on it. The dirty clothes were only identifiable as such because they were in mounds scattered about the floor. The desk, chair, and every available space were littered with magazines, candles, and other detritus of adolescence gone awry. A butterfly chair was occupied by the entirely incongruous collection of stuffed animals and dolls—the only proof Catherine had that this was indeed her child and not some alien pod person sent to Earth for the sole purpose of driving her insane.

Finding no place to rest her weary feet, Catherine leaned against the dresser, careful not to get her sleeve dusty. Incense was burning…somewhere, and was probably covering olfactory evidence of some misdeed. The investigator in her inhaled deeply in an attempt to identify it. _Sex? Drugs? We've already got the rock 'n roll._ Another breath cleared those thoughts; she really didn't have the energy to deal with them right now. Putting on her own false cheer, Catherine asked, "So what have you been up to lately?"

Lindsey, having by now tossed herself back onto her bed, shrugged. "Nothing."

"That's for sure. Didn't I ask you to clean up after yourself in the kitchen and the living room?"

Up and down went the shoulders again. "Forgot."

"How could you forget? It's not like you've got anything else to do now that you can't go back to school."

Taking it as a rhetorical question, Lindsey didn't answer.

"In that case, you can do it now."

"Can't," came the simple reply.

"Why not?"

"Goin' out."

"Where?"

Only one shoulder moved this time, "Dunno."

Huffing out a breath in frustration, Catherine tried to change tacks. In a calm, motherly voice, she offered, "Look Linds, why don't you do the dishes and we'll talk about the Jackie Jackson thing."

"Really? You'll do it?" Lindsey was at full attention, sitting up on her knees now.

_Ha! Thought you could fool me with that apathetic act? I've been playing games since before you were born kiddo; you've met your match in me. _The girl hadn't looked that happy about anything in a long time, though. Maybe she should give in, just this once. "You promise you won't dress me in anything your grandmother would wear?"

"I swear, Mom."

Catherine narrowed her eyes, gauging the intentions of her daughter. She seemed sincere. _Years of dealing with the best liars in the world prepared me well for motherhood._ Smiling now, she warned, "You know, there's no guarantee we'd even be picked."

"I'm feeling lucky." Lindsey approached her mother and put her arm around her shoulder, ready to be her friend again if that's what it took to get the old bat on the show. And she knew just the last button to push. She whispered conspiratorially, "Besides, how could they not choose us? We're gorgeous!"

_You do take after me, don't you?_ Catherine laughed and winked, "Like mother, like daughter."

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Catherine found herself washing the dishes a half hour later, after having straightened up in the living room. Lindsey was so excited at the prospect of getting on Jackie Jackson's show that she really did forget to clean up before she ran out of the house to tell her friends.

She saw his reflection in the kitchen window before he crept up behind her and snaked his hands under her shirt, then around to her breasts. "Hey, Wildcat" he hissed in her ear before nipping at it.

"Hey yourself, Lover." Shutting off the water, she leaned back into Chris and reached her still wet hands up to grab his hair. It had the added benefit of giving him better access to her breasts. "You're home late." She used her best "do me" voice while she tried to sound nonchalant.

_You think you can hide the whiny and insecure tone of your voice if you do the 'breathy' thing babe? I've known you too long._ "There were some problems with the books that I was trying to work out."

"Oh? Anything wrong?" She had borrowed the money for Chris's own club from Sam Braun. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and would be even more so if the business failed, just as his last three ventures using Sam's money had. Not for the first time since finding out the casino owner was her father, Catherine wished he would just die so she could finally inherit his millions. As it was, Sam only gave her money when she asked for it—and that was just a pain in the ass. _What am I, twelve, that I need to ask my daddy for money?_

One of Chris's hands wandered down to the button on her slacks. "With a beautiful woman in my arms, what could be wrong?" He did not want to have this conversation with her just yet. Not until she was more…compliant, at least. And if there was anything he knew about his Cat, it was that good sex would make her as accommodating as he needed her to be.

They mated like animals at the kitchen sink, Catherine grasping the edges of the counter as she kept watch for passers-by at the window directly in front of her. Anyone nearing the house would be able to see them, and his motions behind her and their combined grunting would leave no doubt as to what they were doing. Catherine secretly loved it when someone spied them. It made her feel even sexier, and she could barely keep herself from shouting, "Look at me! Look at my perfect body and my perfect man who can't keep his hands off me!" Shifting her focus, she could also see her own and Chris's reflections in the glass, which added endlessly to her arousal.

Making their way to the bedroom to get some sleep, Catherine mentioned Lindsey's hope of getting them on _The Jackie Jackson Show_. "So what do you think? Seriously. I mean, I know it's kind of silly, but what I wouldn't give to see her dressed in some more flattering clothes."

"I think it'll be an experience you'll never forget."

"Yeah, I do too." They turned the bed down and climbed in. Chris was on his back, Catherine on her side facing him. "So how'd things go at _WildCat's_ last night? What's the matter with the books?" A quiver ran through her belly every time the name of her husband's nightclub was mentioned. The fact that he'd christened it with his nickname for her never ceased to thrill her.

_Got to play this right._ A sigh of frustration escaped Chris's mouth. "I have to admit, I feel like an idiot telling you this."

"Why? What's wrong? Baby, you can tell me anything, you know that."

"I know, but…" He took a deep breath. "I made a major miscalculation, and now if I don't come up with some serious cash in the next few days, I might have to shut the club down."

"Can't you take out a loan or something?"

"No bank would lend to me; we haven't shown a profit yet."

"Well there has to be something you can do!"

"The only thing I can think of is to…No. Forget about it. I'll figure something else out."

"What? What were you going to say?"

"It doesn't matter. It's too much to ask."

"Chris, you're my husband. There's no such thing as 'too much.'"

He closed his eyes, trying to look pathetic, and whispered, "I was thinking maybe you could ask Sam for the money."

"Oh." She knew Chris wouldn't have asked if there has been any other option. "How much?"

"Fifty grand."

"Fifty thousand dollars! Chris, what the hell--" She stopped herself short. She didn't want to say anything to emasculate him; he clearly felt horrible already. She turned away from him to rest on her back. Finding no answers on the ceiling, she closed her eyes and said, "Let me think about this for a while." She really didn't want to have to go to Sam again, but Catherine couldn't stand the thought of seeing her name in lights be extinguished, even if it was neon.

Sensing she was on the fence, Chris made his best play. Shifting to his side, he gently tugged down the covers and began to lightly trace Catherine's areola. Her body responded immediately, puckering the skin and causing her nipple to stand at attention. Moving his hand to her other breast, he applied his lips to her shoulder and worked down toward the peak that was now missing his touch. He'd heard her intake of breath at first contact, but waited until her breathing was shallow to whisper, "Don't worry yourself about this, Wildcat. If this one doesn't work out, I can always use your face in the next one."

Now _this_ was interesting. "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't I tell you I that once I was in the black, I wanted to commission an artist to incorporate your likeness into the décor of the place?"

She turned her head to look at him. _Is he playing me?_ "No, you didn't."

"I've kept the thought in the back of my head since the beginning. I had actually hoped to surprise you with it one day."

She could see the truth in his eyes; and she prided herself a woman who could spot a lie a mile away. He really was such a sweetheart. And who was she to deny him his dream? "I'll call Sam tonight."

TBC….


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Still don't own 'em, still make no money from 'em.

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"Mugs! I was just thinking about you yesterday," Sam Braun beamed as he escorted Catherine into his inner sanctum at the Rampart Casino.

"Something good, I hope." She waved him off when he held up a decanter in offer of a drink. "No thanks, I'm working tonight."

"Is this a business call, then?" He hardly ever committed any crimes himself anymore in deference to his daughter's career. That's not to say he wasn't still responsible for a number of illicit activities; just that they were several people removed from him.

"No, I'm on a break. But I do have to be back within the hour, so…"

"So you want to get right to the point. Always admired that about you, Mugs, you're very direct. Just like your daddy."

She didn't care for the comparison, but this was hardly the time to call him on it. "I need a favor, Sam."

_Keep chalking them up, Mugs. Never hurts to have markers to call in during times of trouble._ "Anything for you, you know that."

"I'm glad you said that, because I need fifty thousand dollars."

His eyebrows rose for a moment before he replied, "No problem. I'll have Marcus draw you a check as soon as he arrives in the morning. Is this for Lindsey? Does she need something? Thinking about sending her on a trip now that she doesn't have school to tie her down?"

"Sam, it's not like she graduated, you know. Or even dropped out. She was kicked out of school. I'm not about to reward that."

"So what _are_ you going to do with her? I don't mean to intrude, but if there's anything I can do to help…"

"I really don't know what to do, Sam. I feel like I don't even know who she is anymore."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but maybe she needs to talk to someone, like a therapist. She hasn't had the easiest life, you know. You and Eddie had a bitter divorce, then he died, and she nearly did too. Through no fault of your own you weren't able to spend too much quality time with her, so she had to grow up too fast."

_Damn straight it was no fault of my own; that initial quarter of a mil you gave me only lasted so long, between Lindsey's nanny and my new wardrobe, facelift, boob job, tummy tuck, and personal trainer. Had to be able to compete with the tramps Chris works with… Oh wait, this conversation is about Lindsey._

Shifting mental gears, she responded to Sam's advice with a shake of her head. "No way. I actually took her to a shrink when she was a kid; her school suggested it. She'd been having trouble getting along with her classmates. Some quack he turned out to be. Kept trying to get _me_ to change _my_ behaviors. Like I told him, _I_ wasn't the one who couldn't get along with my peers and kept getting in trouble at school. Why should _I_ have to change _my_ life around?"

Recognizing he would not get anywhere with this discussion, Sam Braun briefly considered the likelihood that bad parenting was a genetic trait and whether he had passed it along to his daughter.

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"Cath, do you really think this is a good idea?" Sara asked with obvious concern.

"Sure. Why not? What's the harm?" Catherine was driving them back to the lab from a crime scene a few weeks later and had casually mentioned that she and Lindsey had indeed been selected for the "Extreme Mother/Daughter Makeovers" panel on _The Jackie Jackson Show_.

"Won't it be embarrassing? I mean, before they do the makeover, won't they have Lindsey telling everyone what she thinks of how you dress now?"

The blonde chuckled, "That would only be embarrassing if there was actually something _wrong_ with the way I dress."

"I've seen one or two of her shows, Cath. They usually get pretty heated no matter how mundane the topic. How do you know you and Lindsey won't end up throwing chairs at each other?"

"Over some clothing and make-up? Get real, Sara. Besides, I think I know my daughter a little better than you. Between you and me, I think this is actually her way of trying to mend our relationship—you know, a little bonding."

"On national TV? Why doesn't she just take you to lunch?"

When Catherine did not reply, an uneasy silence fell over the interior of the Denali. An ugly idea entered Sara's mind, and she couldn't help but mention it. "One last comment, and then I'll shut up." Seeing Catherine nod her agreement, Sara continued, "I just had a horrible thought—what if this is one of those shows where they bring you there under false pretenses and then totally humiliate you?"

"Sara! You've been a CSI too long if you're looking for ulterior motives behind something as innocent as this. This is Lindsey you're talking about. What could go wrong?"

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"This is the Green Room. You and the other mothers will stay in here until you're due to come out on stage. Someone will come to escort you when it's time. Under _no_ circumstance are you to leave this room. Understand?"

"Sure." Looking the tightly wound woman up and down, Catherine quickly assessed she needed to get laid, and soon, or the head topped with wild flame red curls haphazardly pinned up would likely pop right off its owner's shoulders.

Looking once more at her clipboard, the assistant checked a few more items off her list before acknowledging the last mother to arrive. "Good. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Where's Lindsey?"

"That's your daughter, right? She and the other girls are in a different Green Room. They'll be brought out for their parts first. You won't see her again until you're in front of the camera."

"Oh. So when do the makeovers actually happen? And where are they done? How much input am I going to get into what Lindsey's going to wear? I have some clothes in my car I can get if--"

"No need for that, Ms. Willows-Bezich. Don't you worry about the details, we'll take care of everything." The woman offered Catherine the most frightening smile she'd ever seen before abruptly opening the door to the room and waving Catherine in.

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"Jac-kie, Jac-kie, Jac-kie!" The crowd chanted in anticipation of the arrival of the host. When she emerged on stage, they went wild.

Starting with her standard opening, the attractive platinum-blonde gushed, "Hello everyone! I'm Jackie Jackson, and welcome to my show." She waited for the applause to die down before continuing, "We have what promises to be a _very_ exciting show today." The audience 'oohed' and 'aahhed.' "Backstage, we have several pairs of mothers and daughters. The mothers all believe they are here for a makeover show…" the host paused for the laughter emanating from the more savvy of her fans. "But the daughters have got some surprising news for their moms. They've all been keeping secrets and now it's time to come clean." More applause, combined with hooting this time. "Viewers at home, you're not going to want to miss this one. Set your TiVo and get a snack, because we'll be right back with 'You Think You Know Me? Guess Again, Mom!'"

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Catherine paced the Green Room floor for what she estimated was the hundredth time. She had been alone for approximately twenty minutes, all the other mothers having been brought onstage already at half hour intervals. _I wonder why I'm last? Probably because the least amount of work needs to be done on me. I mean, really, what could she possibly want to change, besides maybe my wardrobe into something less feminine?_ As soon as she threw herself down on the sofa, the door opened and a stagehand motioned for Catherine to follow him. _Finally! Let's get on with the show._

Crossing the threshold onto the stage a few moments later, Catherine was initially disoriented by the bright lights and loud audience. Seeing Lindsey seated on a chair center stage, she headed toward her daughter and sat in the chair next to her. On Catherine's other side was a small table with glasses and a pitcher of water on it. To the criminalist's great surprise, Lindsey was dressed very attractively; not at all like the gothic, moody teenager she'd become. In fact, the outfit she wore now was more along the lines of something Catherine herself might wear. _What's that all about?_

"Catherine, welcome to the show," Jackie drawled as soon as she was in place.

"Thanks, Jackie. It's great to be here."

"We've been getting to know Lindsey a little bit, and she's shared some information with us."

"Let me guess—she thinks I dress too young."

"Actually Catherine, the subject of your clothes didn't come up at all." At her guest's confused look, Jackie continued. "It's time to confess. You were brought here under false pretenses."

Flashes of her conversation with Sara came back to Catherine as her stomach did flip-flops. She tried her best to remain cool as she looked at Lindsey accusingly. The girl sat there, cool as a cucumber. "What's this all about, Lindsey?"

Before the younger guest could open her mouth and spoil the timing, Jackson cut in smoothly. "You'll find out shortly, Catherine. I will give you a hint, though. The daughters on today's show brought their mothers here in order to reveal their secrets."

It took Catherine a moment to find her voice. "A secret? What kind of secret?"

"Well Catherine, before Lindsey tells you, I wonder if you have any idea what she might be hiding from you?"

Beginning to feel anger at being put in this situation, Catherine refused to look at her daughter. "She got herself pregnant, didn't she?" _I'm too young to be a grandmother!_

Lindsey scoffed. "Yeah, sure—knocked _myself_ up. Even if I was pregnant, I couldn't have done it alone, you know."

"So you're not pregnant?" Her relief was palpable.

"No, _Mom_. How pedestrian would that be? You can bet you won't be able to guess what I'm about to tell you," the girl practically spat.

Where did all that anger come from? Catherine looked at her child with new eyes. _If she's not pregnant, but has some other secret, what else is there?_ The light bulb went off. "Lindsey, honey, are you gay? Is that what this is about?" Images of herself wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with "My Daughter's Gay and That's O.K." flashed through Catherine's racing mind. _I wonder if she'll ever make me a grandmother now?_

Now the younger Willows smiled. "You're going to wish I was, that's for sure."

"Then you're not a lesbian?"

Lindsey glanced at Jackie Jackson. "Now?"

"Sure Lindsey, whenever you're ready." The host couldn't wait to see how this one played out.

The younger Willows took a deep breath and began slowly, "I'm having an affair--"

"Jeez, Linds, is _that _what this is about? You're having _sex_ with someone and you drag me out on national television to share the news?" _What a colossal waste of my time!_ Turning away from the girl, Catherine poured herself a glass of water; she couldn't be bothered by this anymore. She could hear the crowd jeering, but wasn't sure why.

"You know, Mom, if you'd just let me finish a sentence every once in a while, you might have a clue as to what's going on in my life."

_Aha! So that's what this is all about. She brings me out here so she can complain about the rotten life she's had and what a lousy mother I've been. The nerve! And listen to that audience, cheering her on._ Taking a sip of the water, Catherine calmed herself and switched game plans. "You're right, honey, and I'm sorry. It probably seems like I don't pay enough attention to you. You know I have a stressful job…" Hearing the grumblings of the studio audience, she quickly added, "but that's not an excuse. So, please finish what you were trying to tell me." She took another mouthful of water—

"I'm having an affair with Chris."

— and promptly choked on it, spewing some of it down her silk shirt. The deafening hooting and howling of the spectators gave Catherine a few moments to catch her breath and attempt to make some sense of what she had just heard.

Catherine's voice was hoarse and barely a whisper when she finally managed to speak again. "What did you just say?"

There was no misreading the look on Lindsey's face. Success. _Got your undivided attention now, don't I, Mom?_ She made sure to speak slowly, both to savor the moment for as long as possible, and to make sure her mother understood every single word. "I said, I've been having sex with your husband."

Once more, the crowd went wild as Catherine bent over and dropped her head in her hands. She remained speechless for a while, then began muttering under her breath, clearly forgetting that she wore a mike on her collar. "This can't be happening to me, this can't be happening to me. Chris wouldn't do this to me…why would he do this to me? She's lying; she must be lying."

Jackie Jackson interrupted her chanting on the third go around. "Catherine, why would your daughter lie about this?"

The strawberry blonde stood up so quickly her chair nearly fell over from the force. "Look at me! Why would a man who has _this_," she indicated the entirety of her body with a sweep of her hand, "risk losing it for cheap sex with a kid?"

"It's _not_ cheap sex! Chris loves me, and I love him!" the teen practically shrieked at her mother.

Catherine replied on a weary sigh. "You're a child, Lindsey. What do you know about being in love? About being in a relationship?"

"Look at me, mother…do I look like a child to you? Look at my body—it's as curvy as yours but firmer. My skin is as creamy as yours but smoother. My hair color is as flattering as yours but it doesn't come from a bottle. Face it: in terms of physical attributes, I'm a younger, sexier version of _you_."

Catherine stood there stunned as the crowd cheered Lindsey on. Her daughter seemed to feed on the response, becoming more sure of herself with every claim she made.

Lindsey continued, "What do I know about being in a relationship? I know enough to be able to recognize that you don't make Chris happy anymore. And I know enough to ask him about himself, about his beliefs and his opinions, and actually listen to what he has to say." The young woman looked at her mother in disgust, "You don't deserve him."

_I ask him his opinions all the time. "Chris, do you think this dress looks good on me?"_ _And we always talk about ourselves. "So, your childhood sucked too? Been there, done that. I swore I'd never grow up to be like my mother. And I bet you're nothing like your father." As for beliefs, we have so many in common. "I heard that someone at work called me a bitch—can you believe that?"_

Realizing these examples would probably not paint her in the best light, but unable to come up with anything more appropriate under the pressure of the spotlight and television cameras, Catherine Willows went on the offensive. "I don't know what kind of drugs you've been using, Lindsey, but I'll make sure you get treatment." Grabbing hold of her daughter's arm, she attempted to direct the girl offstage. "Let's go."

Recognizing the perfect opening for her next surprise, Jackson jumped in, "Catherine, are you saying you don't believe that Lindsey and your husband are involved in a sexual relationship?"

"That's right. She's either lying or delusional, but you can bet your ass my husband has nothing but paternal feelings for Lindsey." She came off so cocky Catherine almost believed it herself.

"Why don't we ask Chris himself, then?" Jackson's voice was all innocence and light.

Catherine would later kick herself for walking directly into what she should have seen was a set-up. "I'd love to, but he's not here today."

"Actually, he is." The host waited until the applause and shouts from the audience died down before inviting Chris onstage.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Still don't own 'em, still make no money from 'em.

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While Chris approached Catherine and Lindsey from one side of the set, a stagehand quickly came on from the other, stealthily placing another chair next to the younger Willows. Seeing this, Catherine wondered about the seating arrangement. _Why are they putting Chris next to Lindsey?_ She did not have time to ponder the situation for long, however, as Chris walked past her and only acknowledged her with a nod and a wink rather than the customary kiss.

"Chris, thank you for being here," enthused Jackie Jackson.

"You're welcome," said Chris

Though outwardly, Catherine observed, her husband appeared his usual cool self, she sensed some discomfort under the veneer.

"I know you've been watching the show from backstage, so you're aware of the extraordinary claim made by your step-daughter Lindsey. I think the audience is very anxious to hear your side of the story, Chris."

"Well, I guess I first need to say that I never set out to hurt anybody." He made brief eye contact with Catherine. "Cat, babe, I hope you can understand, and I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but I really think I can be happy with Lindsey--"

"Are you shitting me?!" This time, Catherine's chair did tip over as she jumped up and lunged at the man she had trusted for nearly a decade. From the corner of her eye she saw the show's bouncers ready to get into the mix should it become necessary. _Damned if I'll turn this into a wrestling match_. Coming to her senses just before she came into physical contact with him, Catherine instead stalked past him and then back again, effectively pacing the stage. The bouncers looked disappointed.

A humorless laugh escaped her mouth as she began shaking her head. "Wait a minute, I get it now. This is some sort of prank, isn't it? A really bad joke guys…but you can end it now."

"Geez, Mom, you really are full of yourself, aren't you? Face it, Chris loves _me_, not you. We've been sleeping together and falling in love, _under your nose_, for months now. And you never suspected a thing. Some CSI you are."

"No! That's not true—why would he suddenly decide to have an affair, with _my daughter_, no less, when we've been so happy together for almost 10 years?"

"Now who's delusional, mom? Happy together? Chris has been having affairs since I've been old enough to know what one was." Seeing her mother needed a little more convincing, Lindsey went for specifics. "Remember my last babysitter? The one I had the first few years you were together?"

"Ginger?" Upon saying the name, Catherine's stomach sank. _Oh, no._ Feeling weak at the knees, she slowly made her way back to her chair to sit. Memories flooded back, uncontrolled, of a day months after the sitter had returned to college out of state.

_She still had her high heels on, after having spent the last ten minutes in a carefully orchestrated dance removing the rest of what she was wearing. Chris was bound to a chair and unable to pleasure himself while she seductively moved about, recalling the lessons from her lap dancing friends who could get close enough to slip one, but not two pieces of paper between them and the client without touching anything illegal. _

_It had been her idea to tie his hands to the back of the chair. She had no problem stripping for Chris, but it was always disappointing when his hand made quick work of what should have been a much more prolonged experience. Not to mention that he tended to forget lately that she still had needs once his had been met._

_As the music ended, Catherine decided her waiting must as well. Positioning herself precisely astride her husband's lap, she intended to make it a fast and furious ride._

"_Untie me," Chris gasped._

"_Beg for it," she demanded in reply. She had no idea where that had come from, but she found it heightened her enjoyment immensely._

"_I…need to touch you. Please. I'll make it so good for you."_

_When she reached behind him and released the knot, his arms immediately wrapped around her and drew a breast to his mouth. The contact sent Catherine over the edge, and Chris followed a moment later._

_Caught up in her own release, she almost missed it. She stiffened and pulled back so show could look him in the eye. "What did you just call me?"_

_He blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"_

"_You just called out another woman's name. You bastard!" She started to disengage herself from his hold._

"_No! No babe, it's not what you think…"_

"_Oh? Tell me what I'm supposed to think, then, when you call out the name of my daughter's babysitter during sex."_

"_It wasn't the babysitter's name," he mumbled, looking away from her._

"_Just how many 'Gingers' do you know?" _

_Chris let out a breath, seemingly embarrassed to be having this conversation, but realizing he had no choice. "I wasn't referring to the sitter, but to Ginger from 'Gilligan's Island.'"_

_Catherine scoffed, "You expect me to believe that?"_

"_It's the truth, babe, I swear. I always had a crush on her when I was growing up. You know, so sexy, glamorous, seductive…that red hair." With that, he pushed a tendril of his wife's own strawberry blonde locks behind an ear. His voice was low and rugged when he spoke again, "You remind me of her."_

_She searched his eyes for long moments, seeking the truth. What were the chances he was thinking of some teenaged kid, anyway? Especially when he had a sexy, glamorous, seductive redhead screwing him senseless._

_Smiling, she winked and responded, "You want me to call you 'Professor' next time?"_

Using her anger to hold back the tears, Catherine finally found the will to sit up straight and look Chris in the eye. She saw the truth then, the reality that she had ignored for all these years. He had played her for a fool, and she'd let him. From the moment she'd taken him back a few months after walking in on him and some cheap whore of a cocktail waitress who worked for him, he'd played her.

"Cat," Chris said in a gentle tone, "I really am sorry."

She continued to look at him, seeing the entire tableau now: her husband holding her daughter's hand, Lindsey practically glowing. She really is beautiful, Catherine realized. _Like mother, like daughter_. Catherine inwardly cringed as she recalled a time not too long ago that she'd had the same thought.

The audience was still rowdy, now with a combination of boos and hoots, but for whom she wasn't sure. She didn't know whether to scream or cry in her devastation, and the crowd was making matters worse. It hit her then, how Lindsey and Chris had probably planned all of this to get the maximum impact. It was bad enough that they were having an affair, and Chris apparently planned to choose Lindsey over her. But to reveal all of this, not only in public, but on national television! Not only did they want to ruin her, but they wanted to humiliate her in the process. But Catherine Willows was nobody's pawn. She'd walk off this stage with dignity, contact her lawyer, and have these two out of her home and on the street before the end of business tomorrow. Then she'd empty all of their joint accounts, since they were all funded with _her_ money anyway, and leave them to see what life would be like without her financial support.

Catherine delicately pushed her hair behind her ears, straightened her still wet blouse, and gave her daughter and husband one last, long, withering look. Chris, at least, had the decency to look guilty. Lindsey, on the other hand, was completely focused on Chris. As Catherine was about to turn away, she watched her daughter whisper something in her husband's ear. He smiled and she nipped him on the neck seductively, a move Catherine herself had made hundreds of times. That was when she lost it.

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Closing the bedroom door quietly behind her, Sara breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure Catherine would ever wind down, despite the liquor she'd been tossing back since before Sara had arrived and sleeping pills she'd swallowed more than an hour ago. She slowly walked around the hotel suite, noting with more detail the small scenes of destruction: torn pictures here, broken tumblers and spilled liquid there, a lamp knocked over by a pillow in the corner. Sara thought, not for the first time, that it was convenient Sam Braun owned the hotel.

Finding an unbroken glass in the bathroom, Sara filled it with water and collapsed onto the couch in the sitting room before dialing her husband. She hoped he'd been able to get back to sleep after Catherine had called in hysterics in the middle of their sleep early that afternoon. By now, though, the kids would be home and the house would be hectic with the typical after-school snack, tell-me-about-your-day, and homework routine.

"How is she?" Gil asked in greeting.

"Asleep, finally. But she's going to have one hell of a headache when she wakes up."

"So what happened? Obviously the show didn't go exactly the way she'd planned."

"There's an understatement." Lowering her voice a bit out of habit, rather than an actual fear that Catherine would overhear her, Sara continued, "From what I could get out of her between fits of swearing that would make a sailor blush, the real topic of the Jackie Jackson show was daughters revealing secrets to their mothers."

"Oh, no. That can't be good. Is Lindsey pregnant?"

"That was Cath's first response too, but no. Lindsey's big reveal was that she's been having an affair with Chris. And Chris is apparently leaving Cath for Linds." Hearing no response on the line for a few beats, Sara asked after her husband, "Gil, you there?"

"Yes. I'm just…I guess stunned is the word. I really can't believe that. How did Catherine react?"

"In true Jackie Jackson Show fashion, she said. She described it as going 'a little ballistic on their asses,' which resulted in her having to be hauled off them by the show's bouncers. Or security, whatever they call themselves. She's pretty sure the cameras even followed them behind stage when she continued the, uh, discussion."

"You mean attack?"

"Probably. Cath didn't really elaborate." Sara continued as she stretched the length of her body out on the couch, "Mind you, the information I just gave you was not so concisely relayed to me. Took me nearly an hour to get that much from her. When she finally dropped off to sleep she was ranting about lawsuits."

"Against the show? But wouldn't she have signed some sort of an agreement?"

"I'm sure she must have. I'm also sure she'll have a different perspective on this when she's had some time to think it through. Right now she's fueled with anger, so all she wants is to lash out and hurt someone."

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"Sam, I want every note you ever loaned him called in, and if he can't deliver the cash _now_, have him arrested for fraud!" Catherine paced in her father's luxurious office, desperate to wrestle back some of the control she'd lost of her life.

"Mugs, I'm sorry, but I can't do that." Sam Braun sat calmly at his desk, wondering how his daughter would take the news that he would be of no help this time.

"Why not?!" she all but shrieked, "He can't show you where he spent that money. He probably never even used it for the businesses. And I need to know where it is—my divorce lawyer needs to know."

"Catherine, please sit down, and take a few deep breaths. I'll explain." He waited while she did as he asked, but not before she poured herself a glass of scotch from his private stock. The casino mogul took this time to study her, and thought his usually well-kept daughter looked like hell. She seemed to have let herself go in the weeks since she found out about Lindsey and Chris: her hair was limp and unstyled, and her clothes seemed tighter than usual. This didn't appear to be by design, either, but probably from all the booze she'd been drinking. Her face had taken on the tell-tale puffing of someone who hadn't been sleeping well and had probably been filling the time with a bottle. He knew that look well from all his years in the business.

He was glad to see the fire back in her eyes and hear the temper in her voice now, though. He knew her ire had been triggered at the filming of the Jackie Jackson Show, but it diminished soon after she'd taken it out on his hotel suite. Then the humiliation set in, certainly not helped by the airing of that ridiculous show and the public knowledge that not only was her marriage over, but her husband had duped her out of all of her money (and not a small sum of his), and taken up with her daughter. It reassured him that she finally seemed to be marshalling up her anger and directing it at that louse of a husband. He hoped what he had to say now wouldn't set her back.

When she approached the sofa and sat next to him, he kindly took her hand in his. "Catherine, I'm sorry. But I can't get that money back for you." He gestured with his hand to keep her from interrupting, "I never floated Chris any loans for his businesses. I didn't think he was that great an entrepreneur and I figured I'd never see the money again. So any money I gave him was an investment; if he did well I'd get a profit on it, and if he didn't I'd take the tax write-off." At the stunned look on his daughter's face, he continued, "I didn't want money to ever cause problems between us, Mugs, so I thought it'd be safer to avoid loans that would have to be repaid."

Pulling her hand from his, Catherine began rubbing her temple as she leaned back. "So you're telling me that I have no recourse here. That to keep things solid between us, you basically gave him all that cash and in essence probably financed his life with Lindsey."

Now it was Sam's turn to be stunned. She was turning this around on _him_? Retaining his calm, he reminded her, "Honey, you were the one who asked me to help Chris out all those times." And, he thought, there were probably several times she borrowed the money from him on her own behalf and just handed it over. Nevada being a community property state, she stood to lose everything Sam had given her that way as well.

She sat bolt upright at this. "You're blaming this on _me_? I'm the victim here, Sam! Yet another man that I trusted used me and then betrayed me. First Eddie and now Chris." Getting up, Catherine headed for the door looking defeated. As she put her hand on the knob, she stopped for a moment and dropped her head. Turning partially toward him, she stated bitterly, "I guess it's true what they say, women really do seek men like their fathers."

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"That bitch!" Catherine growled as she kicked her desk upon walking into her office.

Sara, who had been headed toward the locker room at the end of shift, took a detour for the strawberry-blonde's office when she heard the invective. She knocked gently on the doorframe. "Everything okay, boss?" Knowing how much Cath still liked being reminded of her status, Sara hoped the term would help to calm her.

By now seated behind her desk, Catherine waved Sara in. "Hardly. Do you know what she did?"

"She?" Sara hated it when Catherine complained to her about other CSI personnel and hoped that wasn't what this was about.

"Lindsey sent me a post card from the Bahamas, where she and Chris have apparently holed up for the past few months."

"Oh." Sara didn't know whether she should ask what Lindsey had to say. The last she heard months ago, Catherine's daughter and husband had disappeared, presumably along with large sums of money Catherine had secured for him over the course of their marriage. Catherine and her lawyer now believed that Chris Bezich had socked away most of the money he'd claimed he needed for his various business ventures.

The decision was taken from Sara when Catherine continued, "That ungrateful little bitch thought she'd just rub my face in the fact that she's a man-stealing slut. Look at this!" She tossed the card across her desk.

Sara flinched when she saw the picture on the front of the card: a view five naked men from behind, standing on a beach, with sand still stuck to their bare bottoms. The scene was labeled "Beach Bums" and on the flip side was written in typical teenage penmanship: "Don't you think the second guy from the right looks just like Chris's hot, tight ass? Thanks for everything!"

"I'm sorry, Catherine." And she was. While she'd never thought Catherine was Mother of the Year material (especially since having her own children), Sara felt bad for her. Yes, she'd sometimes neglected Lindsey in favor of her career and her social life. And yes, her ego (or perhaps it her need to be desired) had allowed her to fall prey to the sleazy charms of Chris and remain blind to his cheating ways over the years. And hell, Sara herself had tried to warn her that the Jackie Jackson show might be a set-up! But this had to hurt, and Sara wouldn't have wished this kind of pain and humiliation on her worst enemy.

Catherine's eyes were shiny with the tears that were threatening to fall. "Yeah, well…" She looked down for a beat or two and seemed to gather herself together. "As I always say, 'Never doubt, never look back.' Good riddance to them."

The women shared a moment of quiet solidarity and support as Catherine leaned back and rubbed her six-months pregnant belly. The only thing Chris had left her with, it seemed. "I can't believe I'm going to be a single mother again! But I'm not too worried; it's not like I don't know how to do it. And this child will have every opportunity and everything I never had. And she won't take it all for granted like Lindsey. My next daughter will be everything Lindsey wasn't—my best friend, my confidant. She'll want to grow up to be just like me!"

FIN


End file.
